Author's Note: Just so you all know (those of you who don't already, that is) I love McKay. He's fun to write and I love the character, so I'm not picking on him, necessarily. I'm just writing him like I think he would be - in SG-1, not Atlantis.

OOOOOOOOOO

Ben Crane was sleeping – heavily sedated – in an observation room in the infirmary. Not because he was in any danger, but because it was quiet there and the medical staff figured he'd been through enough to at least warrant a quiet place to sleep. Seated in a chair beside his bed, watching him sleep, Emmett Bregman hadn't moved from his spot in hours. He didn't have anything to do, and nowhere pressing to be, after all, and Ben was his partner and friend, despite the differences in their ages.

It became obvious that he wasn't paying attention to what was going on around him when a gentle hand brushed the nape of his neck without him even realizing someone had entered the room. He looked up over his shoulder, not at all surprised to see that Janet Fraiser had come in behind him.

"Hi…"

Her voice was soft, even though she knew she couldn't wake Ben just by speaking loudly.

He reached up and took her hand, needing the touch just then.

"Hi."

"You okay?"

He nodded, kissing the back of her hand, his eyes on Ben once more.

"I will be."

"General Hammond asked me to tell you he needs to see you as soon as possible."

Bregman frowned.

"Why?"

"He didn't tell me, Emmett. He just asked me to have you join him in my office."

"Your office?"

She nodded.

"He's there right now."

"I don't want to leave Ben."

She squeezed his hand.

"I'll stay with him."

"But…"

"It's probably important," Janet said. "Or he wouldn't ask. He knows what's going on here – and knows what Ben means to you."

Which was true enough, Bregman knew. He sighed and stood up.

"All right. I'll be right back."

Janet nodded and took his place in the chair, and Bregman headed for the door.

OOOOOOOOO

Hammond was seated on the sedge of Janet's desk when Emmett knocked lightly on the door and opened it. He gestured for the reporter to enter, and smiled.

"Thank you for coming, Mr. Bregman."

"Janet said it was important."

"It is." Hammond stood up and walked over, closing the door behind Emmett. "Things have been put into motion… events that will hopefully take care of the threat we're facing."

"But you're not certain?"

"There's no such thing as certain," the general said. "But it's our best bet."

"What can I do?"

"We need it to be recorded," Hammond told him. "The events of the next couple of days are going to change history, and we want something to show the world when all is said and done."

"And if we lose?" Emmett asked.

"Then we need to have it to teach us what went wrong."

Bregman nodded. As much as he wanted to hide away in Ben's room and hover anxiously over his partner's bed, he knew that Hammond was right. They did need documentation of what was going to happen – and the reporter in him was eager to be the one doing the documenting.

"I don't have a cameraman…" he said, knowing that Hammond already knew that, but needing to know what he wanted to do about it.

Hammond nodded.

"We have one. He's getting the equipment together now."

"I get full access to everything?" Emmett asked.

"As much as we can give you," the general told him. "There are other countries involved, and other world leaders. If they choose to remain behind the scenes – and most of them probably won't-"

"If you win they won't," Bregman interrupted.

"Yes. But it'll be their decision whether you can include them in this…"

As it really should be, Emmett knew. He was used to that, at any rate.

"That'll work, general."

"Good. We'll be in the briefing room. When you're ready, join us, and we'll get you up to date on what's being done so far."

"Yes, sir."

It was a good assignment, and would go well with the documentary he'd already shot at the SGC. And it was infinitely better than sitting around worrying about Ben.

OOOOOOOOOO

"This isn't working…"

Ian looked over McKay's shoulder at the display, the second first aid kit in his hand.

"You're in the wrong files."

"This is an informational database," McKay said. "It'll have the gate addresses of any allies they had…"

"I don't give a shit about their allies right now," Ian said, reaching over and pressing a couple of different keys on the keyboard. Between the two of them they'd left the console fairly bloody, but McKay had shown he was definitely gifted with an ability to learn quickly. His Ancient wasn't anywhere near as fluent as Ian's – and probably not close to Daniel's, either – but he was picking it up quickly enough to know what to look for.

A new screen came up. This one showing the gate. McKay frowned.

"That's the gate diagnostic."

"I know."

"Well, that's not going to help us. It's-"

"Just look through it, McKay," Ian told him. "It'll have the addresses that have been dialed last. At least, it should."

He didn't look all that convinced, but Ian didn't care, really. His leg was throbbing, and he had run out of bandages in the first of the first aid kits. Limping over to get the other one out of his pack had hurt enough that he was certain the leg wound was deeper and more serious than the crease McKay had put in his side, which meant he was going to have to actually take more care to wrap that one.

As McKay wandered through the file – slowly – Ian dropped his pants and started bandaging his leg. Sure enough, the injury was deep, but it didn't show any signs of the slug still being in his leg. Which meant it was simply a matter of cleaning it out and bandaging.

"It's not here…" McKay said, shaking his head. He looked over, and was surprised to see that the kid had pulled his pants down. "What are you doing?"

Ian scowled.

"Playing strip Poker, what the fuck does it look like?"

McKay almost snapped back a comment, but the gash in the lieutenant's leg held his gaze. It looked worse than the one in his arm had.

"You should have a doctor look at that."

"You think?"

"Yes, it could-"

"McKay. Shut up and keep looking for the addresses."

God, could his day get any worse?